Chapter 1 - Bethalie
Hermione Granger never expected to find herself running aimlessly down Diagon Alley ever again. If she was being honest with herself, which she always tried to do, she never expected to rejoin the wizarding world. Yet, as Hermione Granger had learned, to her great chagrin, she could not control everything.
The Second Wizarding War had only been over for a few months when Hermione had traveled to Australia. She was determined to remove the Memory Charm from her parents and return to her life. She missed her parents desperately. There was so much to tell them. However, life had other plans in store for her.
Sure, with extensive research, which she was well accustomed to at this point, Hermione was able to remove the Charm. Her parents however, were most unwilling to return to London. They were completely satisfied with their lives in Australia and did not wish to return to a world where dark wizards ever resided.
Hermione stayed with them for a few months, filling in the bits and pieces which eluded them. She realised then, she didn't miss the wizarding world as much as she thought she would. She didn't miss the thrills of adventure and danger. She didn't miss being known as the bookish, know-it-all who was constantly aiding The Boy Who Lived and his trusty sidekick. She wanted more than that. She wanted to be known for herself. She didn't wish to work in the Ministry of Magic simply because she helped Harry Potter destroy the darkest wizard of their time. She wanted to be recognized for her own merits, dammit.
"Hermione, dear, you could stay here with us. It's quite lovely, though it takes a bit of getting used to. I'm sure there are some perfectly single, deliciously tanned men whom would love to make your acquaintance." Jean Granger pushed her dark curls out of her face, tying them up quickly at the nape of her neck.
"Mum," Hermione whined, "I want to go home. I want you and dad to come with me." She despised the humidity in the air, her white blouse sticking to her damp skin. As silly as it was, she missed the chill of London air.
"Dear, we simply can't." Jean gripped her coffee mug with white knuckles, her lips compressed in a thin line. There was nothing her daughter could say to make her want to return. It was a deep seated feeling to remain where she was. She didn't understand it. She didn't want to understand it. Jean Granger only knew the moment she entertained ideas of returning to the UK a terrible ominous feeling invaded her very bones, until she dismissed such notions. She and her husband Al were completely content in Australia, as far as she was concerned and why should they disrupt their happiness for a daughter who had erased their memory? When she took a few moments to ponder such things, Jean found herself quite put out.
"Hermione, if you wish to return, do so. Your father and I aren't stopping you a bit. We're happy here. We're staying here. You were the one who sent us here in the first place and now you're displeased we're staying?" Hermione found herself blinking rapidly, fighting back the tears which threatened to overflow from the rebuke of her mother.
"I'm sorry, mum. You're right of course. I was just...never mind then." Hermione stood abruptly, knocking into the small bistro table.
"I'm sure your father wouldn't mind if you used the house. He'll be home in a bit, dear." Hermione nodded, brushing the tears from her cheeks. She gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek before retiring to her parent's guest room.
A few days later she kissed her parents goodbye and boarded the Muggle flight home. She preferred Muggle travel when it came to overseas journeys, which was always a source of contention whenever she had traveled with Ron. Hermione smiled as she settled into her seat, remembering Ronald Weasley was someone else's problem now.
Three Years Later
December
Hermione Granger sat typing away on her laptop while the last rays of sunlight drifted into twilight. She chewed a brown curl absently while she made the last corrections to her manuscript before it was sent to her publisher. When she was adequately satisfied with the result, she sent it away before stretching her arms over her head.
Her slippers padded across the cream carpet as she wandered down the stairs of her childhood home to fix a spot of tea. Whoever thought Hermione Granger would find fulfillment in writing children's books? Definitely not herself, but in its own way, it was satisfying. It was a quiet life, but one she much preferred over the constant flashing of cameras and reporters shouting questions she had no intention of answering.
She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug for warmth before flicking on the telly. It had become her habit to watch the nightly Muggle news, simply to distract her from the overwhelming loneliness. The blare of the news interrupted her daydreams of her parents impending visit.
While she wrote them often, attempting to maintain a long distance with them had been trying as of late. They couldn't understand where their ambitious daughter had wandered off too. They had always expected great things of her, considering they themselves were accomplished doctors of dentistry. Al Granger had spent many a night asking his daughter when her frivolous book writing hobby would cease so she could move on to greener pastures. Perhaps that was the reason she clung to it desperately. Hermione Granger never did like to be dictated to, by anyone, not even her parents.
"Flight 7349 from Australia crashed this evening just off the coast." The solemn, chubby newscaster reported with downcast eyes while standing outside the airport in the light spring drizzle. "Rescue teams are on scene, there is no word yet as far as survivors, but I have to tell you John, it looks pretty grim here. Back to you."
A sharp pain shuddered through Hermione, deep in her chest, spreading toward her extremities. Her mug fell into the coffee table, spilling its contents before landing on the floor unscathed. She couldn't breathe. Her chest constricted with an intense, unfamiliar pain. Her hands clutched her chest in agony, before, to her amazement a small ball of blue light emanated from within her, before she succumbed to the darkness.
-
Sophia and Dante sat side by side in their parlor, effectively ignoring each other, as every other morning, while perusing The Daily Prophet over tea and scones.
"Dante, darling, I must go to Diagon Alley today. Flourish and Blott's to be specific. The latest Hannah J Godric book has been released. I must add it to my collection." Sophia batted her long dark eyelashes in her husband's direction, her long manicured fingernails dancing upon his forearm.
"I'll never understand your obsession with children's books. Our child is.." Dante sighed, knowing he would be subjected to hours of needless shopping.
"Children!" Sophia interrupted instantly, her ire getting the best of her once again. He knew better than to argue with his wife. He for his part had long since come to terms with the demise of their daughter. His wife on the other hand, held tightly to the notion she would one day emerge, safe and sound and back into their lives.
"Soph.." The double doors to the parlor burst open, slamming into the walls. Their son stood before them, his shirt rumpled, his dark hair mussed as he panted. He bent over, gasping for breath.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Dante stood, angrily crumpling the paper still clenched between his tanned hands, when a small blue light wafted into the room, simply hovering before them.
"It's...following...me." Their son managed to force the words between his staggered breaths, before collapsing on the ornate area rug, behind his parents. Sophia's plump red lips parted as she stood slowly. Her feet moved slowly forward without her consent, her long fingers reaching for the ball of light. It retreated, just out of her reach, hovering over her son's head.
"Bethalie" Sophia sobbed, her knees buckling as her husband caught her.
Hermione awoke with a crick in her neck and a stabbing pain in her back. The floor is never as comfortable as one would wish it was in these situations. She groaned, flicking the telly off with her wand, before she stumbled to her feet. Black, wavy hair, she didn't recognise, swung into her face. With irritation she tucked it behind her ear, ignoring her regular muddied morning thoughts. She kicked off her fuzzy white slippers, stalking into the lavatory, intent on a hot shower.
Hermione knew the preceding evening's events were not a figment of her imagination. In her deepest heart of hearts, she knew her parents were dead. She didn't understand the flickering memory concerning a ball of light, but she would deal with such things after the kinks were sufficiently removed from her body. Hermione reveled in the hot water cascading down her skin, when the pounding on her door began. She ignored it, for the sake of her sanity. She rinsed her dark hair, frowning slightly before turning off the water and toweling herself dry. Hermione stifled a scream when she spotted herself in the vanity over the double sinks.
"What madness is this?!" She inspected what used to be her face. A smattering of freckles across the nose, a dimple in her cheek, and ebony hair looked back at her with the greenest of eyes. Flecked with bits of brown if she wasn't mistaken. Hermione didn't recognize herself. She was shorter than this. She didn't have a dimple. She didn't have green eyes. She most definitely did not have silky soft black hair. It was in that moment she remembered the ball of light once more.
"What did they do?" She whispered, sinking to the floor. Hermione was well versed in magic, but she had never heard of a glamour which extended past adulthood. Unfamiliar magic and an unfamiliar face. The pounding resumed, along with some curious shouts and yet Hermione continued to ignore them.
She crept upstairs, throwing open her wardrobe, intent on dressing and leaving the premises as soon as possible. Hermione didn't know where she was going to go or what she was going to do, but she knew she needed to leave. She couldn't breathe. She was surrounded with thoughts and memories of parents which didn't exist any longer.
Hermione rejected the jeans, based on her height alone. Sure, it was only a few added inches, but it made a bit of a difference. She decided on a grey pinstriped pencil skirt and a red blouse. She couldn't button the blouse completely, but it did the job until she could purchase new clothing.
Hermione's first instinct was to contact Harry, but she hadn't spoken to him in so long, it didn't feel proper. She had left the majority of the wizarding world behind after the war. Her friends had stopped sending owls long ago and today wasn't the day for her to revive her friendships. Today was the day for her to discover what the hell was going on in her life.
She slipped on a pair of sensible beige sandals, tossed her dark robes over her arm, gripped her wand tightly and slipped out the back door. She was hoping whoever was pounding on her door wouldn't think to check the back garden.
"Around back! Someone's there!" A masculine voice shouted while Hermione hurried down the back steps. She had just made it to the wrought iron gate, swinging it open to step outside the wards, when she saw them. A muscular, tanned man was rushing towards her intently, while a tall, pale blond followed closely behind.
"Wait!" The tanned man called, slowing his steps, his hands empty and open. A flicker of recognition crossed her features, before she spun on her heel, Disapparating.
Hermione stumbled a bit on the cobblestone, slightly dizzy from Apparition. She hadn't done it in a few years and found herself a bit rusty. She stood there for a moment, a small smile dancing on her lush lips as the feelings of being home encompassed her. She watched witches and wizards bustle about on their lunch hour before slipping into Flourish and Blotts. She wandered the aisles, fingering her own books on the shelves.
"Have you ever met her?" Hermione listened to a whispered conversation on the other side of the stacks.
"No! No one knows who she is. Can you imagine? Writing all these books and no one even knows who you are?"
"Scandalous!" Hermione smiled, knowing they would never understand her need for secrecy. She despised the limelight and she'd had her fill.
Hermione never felt comfortable with her role in The Golden Trio. Harry was the real hero; she simply was the brains behind the scenes which suited her just fine. Ron Weasley on the other hand embraced the attention and the money for that matter, becoming a bit of a pompous git. Hermione thanked her lucky stars more often than not for turning down his spontaneous proposal. The bell above the door of Flourish and Blotts jingled lightly, pulling Hermione out of her wanderings.
"Are you sure she came in here?" A vaguely familiar voice whispered among the stacks.
"I'm just following the ball of light man." Hermione's eyes widened, recognizing the second voice. She didn't know why anyone was looking for her and she didn't want to stick around to find out. She turned around, heading for the back of the store, intent on circling back around to escape. Hermione was almost at the door when a cold hand grasped her elbow.
"There you are." There was relief in the voice attached to the hand which gripped her tightly. She struggled against her captor, wishing she had moved just a bit more quickly.
"You got her! Thank Merlin. Mother would kill me if I let her slip away again." Hermione grit her teeth, refusing to meet the eyes she could feel boring into her. She lifted her foot and stomped, feeling the hands loosen when she met her mark. She gave him a bit of a shove, throwing open the door and pushing passed a few witches on their way in to the bookstore. She skirted around them quickly, ignoring the jostling and curses behind her and scurried down Diagon Alley.
Hermione skidded to a stop in front of the once familiar shop run by George Weasley. She threw open the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, knocking it into a display of Wildfire Whiz-bangs. She tried to draw a steady breath, hoping the fireworks would remain contained in their packages when Ginny Weasley burst forth from the back of the store.
"George!" Hermione shouted, stepping over the various sized boxes, casting furtive glances over her shoulder. Ginny watched the strange, clumsy woman call for her brother. Originally she had intended to hex the rude customer, but it seemed this one was in a bit of a spot. Ginny frowned when the brunette hit behind the counter, still bellowing for George.
"Ginny, please, get George." Hermione succumbed to sobs, fighting for control, peaking around the counter as multiple wizards rushed passed the shop. Ginny nodded slowly, wondering how this particular witch knew her name, but it was obvious she was in a spot of trouble.
"Stay there. I'll get him." Ginny shoved Hermione behind the counter as the bell in the shop rang. "Be with you in a jiff!" She called over her shoulder, poking her head into a storage room. "GEORGE GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE! CUSTOMERS!" Ginny kept her eye on the witch huddled behind the counter, pressing herself against it when voices approached.
"Weasley. Have you seen a witch?" Ginny arched an eyebrow while rolling her eyes at the large muscular wizard before her.
"I'm a witch. There are a lot of them about." Ginny gestured widely toward Diagon Alley. He growled in answer, perfectly prepared to hex the red haired beauty into oblivion.
"I haven't time for this Ginny! We caught up with her at Flourish and Blotts but she ran and we lost her. Dad said he thought she came in here and sent me for a look." He slammed his fist onto the counter in frustration.
"What does she look like? Why are you chasing her? I'm sure you've frightened her to death." Ginny casually kicked the sole of Hermione's shoe, causing her to draw her knees up to her chest and out of sight.
"She's uhm, well she's about your height I suppose? Long wavy dark hair. Her robes are too short, which I don't bloody well understand that and the little blue orb says she's behind that counter." Hermione bolted to her feet, pushed Ginny into the counter, before rushing out the side door, directly into the arms of George Weasley.
"Hey, Zabini!" Ginny called, brushing the front of her robes, "who is she?" Blaise shoved Ginny aside, making his way toward the door. He paused for a moment, sighing.
"My sister." He growled in frustration, his green eyes flashing. The small alley was empty. He had lost her once again. While he knew the orb would eventually lead him to her, he was quite put out.
"George! Oh George. I'm so happy to see you! Please, you've got to help me!" Hermione sobbed into the inquisitive chest of George Weasley, wedged in an alley behind the joke shop.
"Uhm, I'm not exactly against beautiful witches hurling themselves at me in hidden corners, however, I haven't the foggiest who you are." George Weasley found himself without his regular comical retorts as the witch in his arms sobbed louder. With a confused shrug, he led her away from his shop toward the small two-story building he resided.
Using his foot, he shut the door behind them, Hermione still clinging to his striped sweater as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet. Unceremoniously, George shoved her into an overstuffed chair near the hearth and leaned against the mantle.
"Alright then, who are you?" Hermione attempted to compose herself under his scrutiny. She realised he would never believe she were Hermione Granger. She bore almost no resemblance to the bushy haired girl he once knew. She needed to formulate a plan and she needed it fast.
"Hermione, she sent me." It wasn't a complete lie, yet wasn't the complete truth either.
"Hermione Granger? She hasn't been about in bloody years. You expect me to believe she sent you? Living in Muggle London last I heard." George scoffed.
"Yes. Hermione Granger. She told me if I ever needed help to seek you out. There are wizards chasing me. I don't know why. I didn't know where to go and found myself here and well..." Hermione started to ramble. It was a nervous habit she never quite managed to control as she bit the corner of her lip.
"Oi. Oi. OI!" George interrupted, rolling his eyes. This witch might not be Hermione Granger but she was as irritating.
"Sorry, I have a bit of a tendency to.."
"Ramble. Yes. I've noticed. So, friend of Hermione; what is your name? What have you done to be stalked by the Zabini's AND the Malfoys?"
*Shit* Hermione thought. She hadn't managed to get that far in her plan. She almost wished she were dealing with Ron. At least Ron would be ogling her amble cleavage instead of asking questions she didn't know how to answer.
"Hannah. My name is Hannah. I've known Hermione all my life and if she says I can trust you, then I do. Implicitly. I haven't a bloody clue why either of those families would be after me. I haven't done a bloody thing." Hermione snatched a piece of her hair, intent on curling it around her finger, when she realised her dark hair didn't spring and curl the way it had her entire life. Nothing was the way it used to be. Not even herself.
Hermione screamed when the lightly glowing blue orb whisked through George's door and hovered over her head. George walked around Hermione and her floating orb, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile.
"You're bloody laughing? Honestly, George. I thought better of you." Hermione huffed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, tapping the floor impatiently with the toe of her sandal before crossing her arms across her chest. George stared, his mouth gaping open for a moment. He could have sworn this Hannah witch was channeling her inner Hermione Granger.
"It's a Tracking Spell. You know the sort.." He began. Hermione stamped her foot.
"I'm well aware of what a tracking spell is George Weasley!"
"You're bloody terrifying." George shuddered, his gaze flicking suddenly toward the window. He could make out raised voices and knew they didn't have much time.
"Tracking Spells are for wands, not people. You'd think I'd never had an education." Hermione scoffed, unable to stop herself. George's eyes narrowed and he gripped her shoulders suddenly, staring into the unfamiliar green orbs. He shook his head slightly, causing his red hair to fall across his brow.
"Are you sure you haven't stuffed Hermione Granger into your pocket? Of course you wouldn't know this bit, my dear...Hannah" George stressed the name, waiting for some sort of reaction, "Tracking Spells are routinely used on wands, well not routinely but that's neither here nor there. However, my dear Hannah, little known fact for you, they are also used for twins. Fred and I had one in fact. So it's obvious my dear Hannah, you've wandered away from your family and your twin is searching for you. Wait."
"Twin? What on earth George?! Is this some elaborate joke? Is this a game? This is my LIFE! And it's all in shambles around me now! My parents are dead and there's a stupid blue orb following me about which apparently causes Zabini's and Malfoys to set off after me and now you're telling me I've a bloody TWIN?! What fucking madness is this? Haven't I been through enough? When will it be enough?!" Hermione shrieked, jumping to her feet and giving George a particularly rough shove. George fell backward, his head smacking the stone behind him none too gently before he slumped to the floor.
The door to the small two story cottage burst open. Hermione spun on her heel, her wand pointed at the intruders, her eyes flashing with rage.
"Expelliarmus!" George shouted, deftly catching Hermione's wand, before she hexed her family. Blaise Zabini grasped the door jam, his chest heaving from running about Diagon Alley and stared at the slender, angry witch before him. He took in her long wavy, almost black hair and the smattering of freckles across her nose before he met her eyes. The eyes which held the same wonder as his own.
"Bethalie.." Blaise took a step forward, waving away whomever was behind him. Hermione stepped backward, closer to George.
"George? Wh-what's going on?" She found herself sliding down the wall, settling next to George. George pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to formulate an answer which would not injure himself further.
"It seems, from looks alone, mind you, that this gentlemen here, is your sibling." He ignored her gasp and Blaise as well for that matter.
"I don't have siblings George. I'm an only child, you know that." Hermione didn't notice her slip of the tongue, even as George cast a sharp glance in her direction.
"Apparently my dear Hannah, you're a bit mistaken. Perhaps this fellow will explain it to us?" George gestured toward Blaise, his brows raised in silent challenge. Blaise moved into the room, shutting the door behind him to the great irritation of his companions. He sunk into the chair, Hermione had vacated, unable to take his eyes off her.
"She's my sister." He began quietly, ignoring the frown etched into her features.
"Yes, gathered that. Your name then?" George interjected, tossing an arm casually over Hermione's shoulders.
"Blaise. Blaise Zabini. And you are?" He decided it was best to tread carefully. It was obvious his sister was absolutely terrified. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably.
She truly did detest lying, but she had to keep up the charade. Didn't she? What would he think if he knew it was Hermione Granger sitting before him? Surely he would hex her to oblivion, wouldn't he? She honestly didn't know.
She'd never really taken notice of Blaise Zabini during her time at Hogwarts. She was much too caught up in her studies and rescuing Harry and Ron from their latest harebrained adventure to give the Slytherin a second thought. At least she wasn't related to Malfoy, anything was better than that.
Hermione couldn't understand how this had happened. She was raised a Muggle. She was a Muggle-born witch, wasn't she? Her parents raised her and loved her, hadn't they? Even Hermione had to admit she was always a bit closer with her mum than her dad. Her dad was always incredibly cold to her, but doted on her mother. She never wanted for anything, so she had always forgiven him for his slights.
"This incredibly quiet witch claims to go by the name Hannah." George nudged Hermione in her ribs, drawing her back to the unfinished conversation. She ignored the accusation in his voice, turning instead to Blaise.
"Your sister? How is this...possible? I don't...I don't understand." Even to Hermione, her voice sounded incredibly small, with the slight trace of a tremor.
"I don't really understand it all either. I mean, I've always known I had er have a sister. Mum liked to tell me the story of when we were born and dad would always interrupt to put in little inconsequential details but at the end of it, it was always the same. You were always gone. No one ever knew where. They'd never been able to find you. And I was magically an only child." Blaise's green eyes bored into hers, searching for some sort of impossible recognition.
"Taken? I was stolen? No. You're lying. My parents loved me! My mother loved me! She would never! How dare you!" Hermione bellowed, wishing she had her wand as she made her way to her feet. George stood quickly, swaying slightly on his feet before grasping her elbows.
"Hannah. Hannah. He never said your parents took you. Listen to him."
"I didn't mean to upset you. Honestly. Mum never knew who took you. Dad always said it had to have been a very strong wizard to have caste such a strong glamour. I've never heard of one lasting past coming of age." Blaise pocketed his wand, holding his palms open before Hermione, trying to calm her.
"Wizard? That's impossible. I was raised by Muggles." Inwardly, Hermione cursed herself. She had always let her temper get the best of her and here she was, spilling secrets she didn't wish to be known.
It wasn't a secret Hermione Granger had been raised by Muggles, but as far as Hannah was concerned, that was something completely different. Hermione had slowly slipped out of the wizarding world of her own accord. Hannah on the other hand, was practically famous with the publication of her well received children's books. She wasn't ready to subject herself to the multitudes of questions, scrutiny and even anger of all she left behind.
"Muggles? Really? We never considered that. What are your parent's names?" Blaise leaned forward, intrigued by this bit of undiscovered news. George released Hermione slowly, his brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. He casually paced the small room, before leaning casually against the window pane near the door.
"Jean and Alabaster." Hermione answered quickly, her brain moving in multiple directions. She began pacing, spinning on her heel delicately before heading in the opposite direction. She twirled the ends of her hair, chewed her lip and mumbled to herself. George nodded slowly in realization when her eyes met his.
*Shit. He knows.*
"Really now? I find that incredibly interesting." George's voice dripped with sarcasm. Hermione's eyes widened as she imperceptibly shook her head in George's direction.
"Look. I don't understand all the code and shit, but I have to bring her home. I'm really sorry if she doesn't want to go, but I don't have a choice. My er our parents will bloody kill me." Blaise was utterly and completely frustrated with the turn in conversation. It was obvious to him his sister knew this particular Weasley. It was obvious the Weasley knew something which wasn't being shared with him. Honestly, he didn't care. He wanted to snag his sister and take her home and let their parents sort it out.
"You expect me to go with you?" Hermione desperately wished George would relinquish her wand, but based on the twinkle in his eye, she knew he was enjoying himself entirely too much.
"Well, yea. I mean, if you don't the orb is just going to follow you and mum is going to throw a fit and dad is going to blame me. Just come and meet them? Please. Try. If you hate it, I'll bring you back here myself. Seems you're friendly with the Weasley." It was strange for Hermione to hear Blaise Zabini beg. She couldn't recall a single moment where she had ever heard a Slytherin beg for anything and yet here this particular one, who apparently was her brother, was begging her. She never could turn down requests for help. She found herself nodding slowly, her eyes never leaving Blaise's.
"Zabini here has a point. Can't hurt to meet your family. Could I have a word with her before you whisk her away?" George nonchalantly tossed Hermione her wand as he opened the front door. Blaise nodded quickly, sighing in a bit of relief. George shut the door and moved toward Hermione.
"I know who you are." He whispered, standing incredibly close to her. She felt the tears prick her eyelids, not wishing to meet his gaze.
"Please, George, don't tell. Don't tell anyone."
"Why not? Harry and Ron haven't seen you in bloody years. Ginny either for that matter. Hell, none of us have. You just sort of disappeared and yes, yes, we let you, but no matter. You're here now. Sort of anyway. You don't look anything like you. You want to go off and what exactly? Pretend to be this Hannah person?" George found he was having great difficulty keeping his voice down. He knew without a doubt, Blaise and whoever else has accompanied him were straining to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"George. I had my reasons for leaving. I tried to explain to Harry and even Ron for that matter. They never paid any mind to how I felt or what I wanted. Ron just wanted me to give up everything and bloody marry him, no matter how many times I told him I didn't love him like that. Harry wanted to ignore, well everything and I couldn't bloody take it anymore. I needed out. I needed to breathe. So I did what was best for me, for ONCE in my life I thought about me. And now my parents are dead, apparently I was stolen as a child and I don't even recognise myself in the mirror but I have a family. And, for your information, I don't have to pretend to be Hannah. I AM Hannah. Hannah J Godric. Author extraordinaire." Hermione crossed her arms crossly, huffing and tossing her hair, which was so incredibly Hermione Granger, she didn't even realise it.
"Imagine that. Hermione Granger is Hannah J Godric and Bethalie Zabini. Wonders will never cease, apparently. Alright then. I'll keep your secret, but, the minute you decide to end this charade, you let me know. I won't tell Harry and especially Ron. He's still a bit of a git. Though, if Ginny finds out? You're on your own. She's never quite forgiven you for leaving and Harry and Ron for letting you go. You must owl me regularly, otherwise, I'll, well I'm sure I'll think of something delicious. Takes me right back to our Umbridge days." George sighed, a serene smile of contentment pasted upon his freckled face. Hermione laughed, throwing her arms around George in thanks.
She stepped out of George's cottage with her wand held tightly in her clenched fist. Blaise was leaning against the joke shop building casually waiting for her, relief evident as his pained expression softened. Hermione walked toward him slowly, still wary of the entire situation. He frowned at the state of her robes, causing a blush of embarrassment across her cheeks. Without regret, she removed her dark robes, tossing them onto the ground.
There was a crunch in the gravel behind her, causing her to spin around, raising her wand. Hermione gasped at the sight. Mentally she added this event to the list of things she never expected to encounter in her life. Draco Malfoy stood off to the side, the sun shining brightly over his head. His pale blond locks were no longer perfectly coifed, in fact they were a bit mussed and haphazardly lying across his forehead. His steely grey eyes were exactly as she remembered them, though without being laced with hatred. If she wasn't mistaken, it almost looked as if they were filled with warmth and concern.
"Blaise." Hermione called over her shoulder, unwilling to let Malfoy out of her sight. "What is he doing here?" She swore she could actually feel Blaise shrug behind her. Draco frowned lightly, confused by her instant dislike of him. He stepped forward quickly, taking her in.
"I'm sorry. Do I know you?" Hermione's wand hand shook; she desperately wished to turn him into a ferret on principle alone. George Weasley stepped outside instantly, grabbing her wrist, forcing it to her side.
"Retract your claws, pet. You must learn to play nice with others otherwise your ruse will be up, before it's truly begun." He whispered the words against her cheek, keeping a smile on his face for Blaise. Merlin forbid her secret was discovered in front of her worst childhood enemy.
Unfortunately for Hermione, George was right. She would have to play nice with others. Others whom had treated her horribly for being Muggle-born when apparently she wasn't. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. Hermione nodded curtly, silently thanking him.
"No. I'm sorry. Must have confused you for someone else." She quickly hugged George again, before allowing Blaise to take her hand and lead her back to the cobblestone of Diagon Alley.
"What do you mean we have to fly? We can't Floo? Or even Apparate?" Hermione could hear the hysteria in her own voice while Blaise shoved a broom into her hands. She instantly dropped it, backing away from her brother and Malfoy.
"What kind of bloody witch doesn't fly?" Blaise was completely exasperated and he hadn't even brought his sister home yet. Sure, he knew she would have loads of questions, but he honestly just wished she'd shut up already. He'd already spent most of his morning traipsing around Muggle London and Diagon Alley in order to find her. He was tired. He wanted a drink and a nap, not to babysit his mental sister.
"I-I don't. Please, please don't make me." She felt the panic rising, the familiar tightening of her chest, the inability to draw a complete breath, the wracking sobs intent on wrenching free, were overwhelming her. The edges of her vision started to turn dark when she felt strong arms, keeping her on her feet. She felt a hard chest behind her before those very same arms encircled her waist.
"Hey. It's alright then. Bethalie. Close your eyes and breathe. Nice and easy then. Breathe with me, you can do it." While Hermione knew it was Draco Malfoy speaking to her in hushed tones and actual comfort, she listened. She focused on the heartbeat pressing into her back and the slow deep breaths. Surprisingly, she felt herself calming.
Hermione had barely managed her increasingly anxiety and panic following the war. She had become almost complacent to them. It wasn't unusual for her to toss back several different potions per evening to get a few hours of rest. As much as she truly believed she resented the wizard giving her aid, she appreciated his kind gesture.
"Th-thank you. I feel a bit better now." Hermione continued to suck in deep breaths, willing herself to step away from him.
"Blaise. I'll take her." There was a part of Blaise that was thankful for the offer. The other part of him, the distrusting part, had his green eyes narrowing in suspicion. He had only been an older brother for a few hours, but he felt the need to protect his sister from the antics of his best mate. Blaise knew however, Draco was the better flyer. If anyone was going to be saddled with Bethalie, it should be Draco.
"That alright with you Bethalie er Hannah er what do I call you?" Blaise was itching to feel the wind in his hair, itching to race home and give his parents the good news.
Hermione took a moment to answer. Maybe George was right. Maybe she really had to embrace her ruse in order for it to believable. She had only chosen a pseudonym to avoid recognition. She wouldn't miss the name. Hermione Granger never really existed either. Hermione Granger was a bushy haired, know-it-all, disliked, Mudblood. Bethalie Zabini was, well, Hermione didn't know exactly what she was, but she wanted to find out. She wanted a new life. She didn't want to hold onto the pain and baggage of Hermione Granger. It was in that moment, she decided.
"Beth. You can call me Beth." Once the words escaped her blush lips, she realised she would be alright. She would always love to read. She would always be incredibly stubborn with a bit of a temper. She would always be the brains behind The Golden Trio, but, she would never be a Mudblood again. It was time to heal and if this was the way she had to do it, so be it.
"Beth. Draco will bring you home. I'll go ahead and prepare my er our parents. Malfoy. Behave yourself." She heard the warning in her brother's voice and smiled. It was nice to have someone looking out for her for a change.
"C'mon then. You sit in front, I think it'll be easier for you that way. Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow." Draco smiled, which completely caught Bethalie Zabini off-guard. She had never seen him smile before. Reluctantly, she took the offered hand and allowed herself be lead toward the waiting broom.
"I can't do this. Isn't there another way?" Beth's knees buckled at the very thought of mounting the offered broom. Once again, Draco Malfoy caught her quickly around the waist, settling her against his chest.
"I'm sorry. Really, I am. Maybe you can convince Sophia and Dante to open the Floo or even establish Apparition points, but currently? This is the only way." Beth nodded, attempting to understand the logic of locking down one's residence, but failing to see the point. She watched him climb onto the broom, while holding her wrist. She knew it was so she couldn't run from him, which irritated her slightly.
"You want me to sit where now?"
"I don't believe I've ever known a witch this bloody terrified to fly. Wait. No. That's not right. There was another once, forever ago actually. She detested it as well. I suppose you're not alone, Beth." Beth held her breath at his words, hoping against hope he wouldn't put two and two together. She didn't want to see the kind, comforting wizard before her dissolve into a hateful, insufferable git.
With gentle hands, Draco Malfoy helped Beth mount the broom. He chuckled lightly when she buried her face in his chest, her knuckles white while clutching his lapel, before they ever left the ground. Due to the length or rather lack of length to her skirt, Beth was forced to sit English on the broom, practically in Draco's lap; which he discovered didn't bother him in the least.
"Hang on tight." He whispered against Beth's cheek before gently kicking off. He chuckled again when she shrieked, gripping him with inhuman strength. Draco wrapped an arm around her waist, truly only needing one hand to maneuver his way toward the Zabini Manor.
Draco Malfoy flew low and slow, just the way he promised his best friend's sister. Normally he chose to fly as fast and high as he could, simply for the thrill, but today wasn't the day for such things. Bethalie Zabini was coming home and Blaise trusted him enough to transport the trembling witch. She reminded him of someone. Someone he had thought about too many times in the past few years, but Draco pushed those thoughts away. Today wasn't a day to dwell on regrets.
"Beth? Beth. You might want to take a gander about. We're almost to the Manor." She shook her head violently, pressing herself against him while shaking in terror. At least she had stopped screaming, for that Draco was eternally grateful.
He landed on the plush lawn of Zabini Manor as gently as possible. Sophia and Dante Zabini waited impatiently for them to dismount, near the fountain gracing their elaborate front garden. Blaise was marching forward with purpose, intending to disentangle his sister from his best friend, yet stopped suddenly, and watched her quake.
"Beth. It's alright. We've landed." Blaise listened to Draco speak in soft, soothing tones, but Beth refused to release him. She simply kept shaking her head, attempting to squelch the tiny sobs. Draco looked to his best mate for help, but neither of them truly had any experience with upset witches or siblings for that matter. Blaise leaned over, trying to pick Beth up, but that made everything worse when she started to scream again.
"Stop. You're making it bloody worse. Listen. I'll just carry her I suppose. Can't bloody stay out here all day." The moment Draco lifted Beth; she threw her arms around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
"You're choking him." Blaise interjected, smirking at the ridiculousness of the situation. Sophia and Dante moved aside, leading them toward the very parlor they spent their mornings.
"Sophia, I'd desperately love to put her down, but it seems she refuses to relinquish her hold? I'm a bit out of sorts at the moment." Draco Malfoy tried to be as polite as possible. He honestly didn't mind having a beautiful witch attached to him, but the presence of her parents as well as her brother, made him a bit uncomfortable.
"Oh, Draco, I'm sure the poor girl is simply distraught. Sit near the hearth, Dante my darling, the fire please? Blaise? Would you kindly have Kracker prepare tea service?" Sophia Zabini could hardly contain her excitement. Sure, she was currently unable to gaze upon her long lost daughter's features, but that wasn't important. The poor girl would calm down eventually.
Her dark blue eyes danced in amusement while Draco Malfoy attempted to make himself comfortable in the oversize plush chair. Dante had covered Beth in a dark blue, plush throw, to help with the shivering, which had nothing to do with the cold. It appeared Bethalie had fallen asleep. The side of her face was pressed into Draco's neck and a hand casually resting on his chest, made for a disturbing picture for Blaise Zabini.
"Where did you find her?" Dante Zabini chose to break the tense silence, his hazel eyes flickering between his son and daughter.
"Diagon Alley. The Weasley's joke shop." Blaise ignored the tea, instead pouring himself a tumbler of fire-whiskey. If he was going to survive this entire ordeal, it was necessary.
"Weasley? Does she know them? Did they tell you anything?" Sophia squeezed her son's hand, begging him for a sliver of information.
"She knows George Weasley. One of the twins. Older than us by a couple years or so. He called her Hannah. She was raised by Muggles and her parents just died. Uhm, her other parents? I don't know what the fuck to call them." Draco started slightly, startling Beth, which caused her to whimper. He found himself rubbing her lower back, in small circles, just like his mother used to do for him when he was a child.
"Muggles? Our daughter was raised by...by Muggles? Did she tell you their names? The people who raised her. Do you know their names Blaise?" There wasn't a trace of derision in Sophia's voice at the thought of Muggles raising her daughter. If Hermione Granger/Hannah Godric/Bethalie Zabini had been awake, she would have smiled.
"Jean and Alabaster. Which, Alabaster is a fucking stupid name for a Muggle if you ask me." Dante threw his glass into the fireplace. Beth whimpered again, while Draco shushed her quietly, keeping an eye on the irate wizard.
"He's not a bloody Muggle." Blaise rarely saw his father angry. It was the one thing he was truly grateful for after witnessing numerous bouts of rage from Lucius Malfoy.
"Uhm, well, he's dead, dad, if that helps? Who is he?" He was terrified to ask, but the curiosity of the Slytherin would one day be his undoing. He was sure of it. Dante poured himself a large glass of red wine, Italian of course, and sat next to his wife. Sophia kissed his cheek quickly with a small nod.
"Alabaster Granier Zabini is my brother."